It's cold today. English weather. No wind to speak of, just heavy, dull, grey cold. Not a grand day to be pruning but we're panicking a bit now as to how we can finish in time, so needs must.
Lizzie is trying out some power-assisted secateurs she bought last year. They're a bit scary, though nothing like as scary as the ones the pros use which slice through metal, vines and fingers willy-nilly. The great thing about them though is that they leave you a free hand so you can gather up the sarments (vine shoots) while you prune. With the two-handed pruners you have to pick up the pruned shoots from the ground which is horribly tough on the back. Meanwhile, I was topping off all the long, snaky stems and burning them in Hot Pegasus our jolly burner on pram wheels which we're also considering calling Stanley's Pram in honor of Stanley Spencer. Don't ask.. Or if you must, ask Lizzie.
It's fantastic to look down the lanes between the vines and see them free of wood and detritus. It's the first time we've been able to do that and Stanley's Pram is working a real treat. We know pruning and burning simultaneously will save us a lot of time in the long run, but right now it's taking twice as long. Perhaps when the weather warms up we'll find a willing pyromaniac to help.
When we'd pruned the last of the syrah we retreated to the caravan for a cuppa leaving Flynn tied up outside mournfully watching a flock of tasty sheep on the far hill. Kit thundered into Olive and buried her head in Lizzie's lap.
"What's up?" asked Lizzie.
"Brrrrrgnarybrrrrr," said Kit.
"Oh poppet, your ears are frozen," cried Lizzie, "lucky you didn't shake them, they'd have snapped right off."
We warmed them up and found an old jacket of Lizzie's and slipped it on. I'm considering tailoring one for her, as this one obviously didn't impress her. I think she thought it was the wrong colour for a redhead.
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